


unsaid, undone

by rire



Series: MidoAka Month 2015 [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:32:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rire/pseuds/rire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What could have happened, and what did(n't).</p>
            </blockquote>





	unsaid, undone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for MidoAka month on Tumblr - Theme: Regret
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

 

-

i.

It happens one day on their usual walk home. Spring is in the air, sunshine bouncing off Akashi’s vibrant hair, caressing his pale skin. Midorima thinks it’s the heat of the sun’s rays that is messing with his mind and causing him to make these strange observations about his friend. The cherry blossom trees are in full bloom, and as they walk down the sidewalk, a petal spirals through the air in a graceful loop and is caught on its way down in Akashi’s bangs. 

Instinctively, Midorima reaches over and brushes the petal out of Akashi’s hair, grazing the tip of Akashi’s ear in the process. Akashi’s eyes widen just by a millimetre, and the tips of his ears go pink.

It’s the heat—it’s definitely the heat—that freezes Midorima in place and causes him to tuck that loose strand of hair behind Akashi’s ear. To stand, so close, and marvel at how long Akashi’s eyelashes are, how his pink lips are slightly open as if about to speak, how very much he would like to capture them in his own and swallow his words.

The moment doesn’t last. As quickly as he had reached out his hand, he retracts it, turns away, adjusts his glasses as if nothing had happened. Something creeps into his stomach—anxiety? Regret? Fear of the consequences? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his face is a much deeper shade of scarlet than Akashi’s ears ever were, and that he will continue to replay this incident in his mind for years to come.

-

ii.

The signs have been appearing more frequently lately; the coldness that glints across Akashi’s eyes, the moments where his voice, his words, his mannerisms seems like someone  _different._

He knows they are signs, but Midorima doesn’t know what they mean. All he knows is that something is wrong.

Without thinking, he stops, and Akashi walks on ahead for no more than two steps until he turns.

“Is something wrong, Midorima?”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the answer. Akashi is right in front of him, and yet he feels as if the Akashi he knows and cares for is slipping right through his fingers like sand. He lifts a hand, reaching it out towards Akashi’s sleeve, his heart thumping loudly in his ears under Akashi’s captivating stare—and then his arm changes course of its own accord, falling to his side.

“Nothing,” he says quietly. “Nothing at all.” And Akashi drops the subject.

Days later, when Akashi snaps under the pressure on the court, crushes Murasakibara mercilessly, and transforms entirely, Midorima feels a pool of ice forming in his stomach, chilling him to the bone. He wonders how things would have turned out had he grasped Akashi’s sleeve in his hand, had he not let go and let Akashi slip beyond reach.

-

iii.

He sees Midorima outside the stadium, standing still and fidgeting with the tapings on his hand. Akashi looks at those hands and thinks of how slender and pale those fingers are after the tapings had been removed, thinks how beautiful they had looked skirting over the keys of the piano at dawn in the music room, thinks of how warm they had felt brushing against his skin for the briefest of moments. Of how he himself, just days ago, had refused that outstretched hand in the name of victory. Of how it really did not matter whether he had won if he was going to lose the chance to hold that hand again.

His other self had hurt people- no, he had hurt people. There was no use passing on the blame, for in the end, he is the one who wanted to rectify things, and he is going to do it.

He takes a deep breath, feeling the cold air filling his lungs, soothing, and then he steps forward—

—to see another boy, grinning from ear to ear, emerge from the building and jog up to Midorima, carelessly throwing an arm around Midorima's shoulder despite the laughable height difference. But the thing that strikes him, that embeds itself in his mind, is the way that in spite of the way Midorima adjusts his glasses and grumbles as if in irritation, he leans down a little to the side—not enough to be obvious to anyone other than Akashi, who not only sees everything but has memorized Midorima's every movement and what they mean.

Akashi Seijuurou is not one to hesitate, but in that moment, as he watches them walk away with his feet planted firm against the concrete, he finds that he cannot move. It is, he thinks, the second time that day that he has lost.

-

iv.

 _Now is the time,_ Midorima thinks to himself as Akashi slides into the seat next to him in the booth.  _Now is the time to say it._

They are the first two in the restaurant, sitting in wait for the rest of their friends at the reunion that Kise organized. It is the first time Midorima has seen Akashi since the old Akashi returned, and he looks dashing as always, casual yet perfectly put-together in a collar shirt and cardigan and skinny jeans—Midorima did not even know he owned skinny jeans. His red eyes are soft around the edges as he smiles up at Midorima, but Midorima does not hear the words he is mouthing, for the thoughts in his mind are running wild.

 _Now is the time._  The thought hammers itself into his mind, again and again and again. He opens his mouth, but his throat is dry.

What would he say?

_You look gorgeous._

Akashi stops talking, staring up at Midorima. For the first time in what seems like ages, he looks surprised.

_I’m glad you’re back._

Midorima opens his mouth and tries to force out the words. Akashi looks on, wrinkling his brows.

_It was always you. Always, always, always—_

—And Kise bursts through the door in a flurry of sunny smiles and expensive cologne, dragging a scowling Aomine along by the wrist, and the moment is broken.

-

v.

He wakes up in the middle of the night with Midorima on his mind. Sitting up in the sheets, he looks down at the sliver of moonlight that cuts through the blinds and lands on his bed. He follows the trail of light to the phone on his nightstand, and thinks of all the words he never said, all the apologies he never made, all the confessions dying on his tongue.

He picks up his phone and scrolls down to Midorima’s name in his contacts. A phone call is not the best way to do this, he knows, but he also knows that he has the weekend off and could easily board a train to Tokyo. All he needed to do was set a date and time. Midorima wouldn’t say no—would never say no—and so all he needed to do was ask.

But for what purpose?

Akashi’s fingers hover over the keys. What would be the purpose of digging up the past? He had done enough already, had poured salt in Midorima’s wound with his refusal of Midorima’s attempt to reach out, had blatantly ignored Midorima’s feelings, and now was pathetically chasing the backside of someone who had already walked away.

Akashi can see it in his mind—they would meet up in a little coffee shop, sit across from one another, fold their hands across their laps. Akashi would make awkward small talk while dodging all of the important issues just as he had done for so many years, widen the growing crevice between them while Midorima would sit, wishing he were anywhere but here.

Akashi does not want to put Midorima through any more than he already has, so he sets his phone back down and rolls over in his bed.

He does not sleep.

-

vi.

He could have turned Takao down.

He could easily have said no, could have apologized and bowed deeply and acknowledged the flame inside him that still burned for another. He could have listened to his heart when red hair and red eyes flashed before his vision at the very moment of the confession.

But he knows, just as well as everyone else does, that Takao is good for him. They are compatible by horoscope and by personality. Takao is easygoing, socially skilled, and knows how to enjoy himself—all things that Midorima reluctantly admits balances out his own traits. He is strong, intelligent, emotionally resilient, understanding, caring.

He is also not Akashi Seijuurou. Takao is an ocean he would be content to sink into, the warmth of the water catching and breaking his fall. Akashi is dangerous, unpredictable, and still, after all these years, lights a fire within Midorima.

He can only hope, with the new yet somehow familiar warmth of Takao’s hand in his, that the flame will be diminished with time.

-

vii.

He hears about Akashi’s wedding through Kise, naturally, as he has not spoken to Akashi in years. They used to text once, Midorima recalls, but the messages had gradually died off over time. He thinks there might be something significant about the fact that Akashi had gradually stopped writing after he found out about Takao, but he doesn’t dwell on it. They are nothing more than old friends at this point.

Old friends.

And it is because of that, and nothing else, that he inquires:

“An arranged marriage, is it?”

Kise, over the phone, hesitates for the briefest of moments. “Yeah,” he says casually, but Midorima knows that Kise  _knows._  “Yeah, it’s um, a business partner or something.”

An awkward silence falls upon them.

“You know, Midorimacchi—”

“I know,” Midorima says, cutting him off abruptly.

“You could—”

“I know.”

Kise lets out a barely audible sigh. “Okay. Take care,” he says, and hangs up.

But Kise is wrong, because there is nothing Midorima  _could_  do. Perhaps he  _could have_  done something, sometime, long ago, but he—they—have long since passed the point of no return.

All that’s left are memories, pieces of an unfinished puzzle that will never be completed. They have moved on with their lives, and middle school is but a fleeting chapter in the book.

Still, as he puts down the phone, Midorima wonders why he feels so empty.

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted on Tumblr [here](http://akashintarou.tumblr.com/post/121867096981/unsaid-undone).
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
